LOVE IN THE AGE OF TRUMP, the next chapter

(Here’s the next chapter. I’ll have another post later tonight, concerning the unexpected future of this story.)


The Plan


When she returned to the bedroom, Paulina made an announcement.

“I have decided that we should go to Maga-city One and see President Trump,” she said.

 “When did you decide that?” Willy said. He didn’t bother looking at her. Instead, he stared out the window, at what had become a steady downpour.

“On the way home. I was thinking about it, and I decided. We should go to the capital One and see Trump. The president. You know.”

“Maga-city One.”


“The President. Trump.”


She stood there, halfway between the bathroom and the bed, with her hands on her hips. Waiting.

Willy nodded, thought about it. He couldn’t quite settle on why, but something felt out of sorts. Not that Paulina wanted to go see Trump – she loved her president, the same way everybody in America loved him – but she’d never suggested they should make the pilgrimage from Ohio to MC-1. Now she brings it up? And like she said, she had been thinking about it for a while. Maybe the day’s Resistance incursion had driven her to a renewed sense of urgency.

“Maga-city One is a hell of a long drive from here,” he said.

“Four hundred and twelve point seven miles from our door to the White House,” she said. “Precisely.”

Willy found his VR imager in its spot near the alarm clock on the night stand. When he punched in “M-C-1,” the imager projected into the air above them the bed a small, electric blue map of the eastern United States, with an American flag symbol on Columbus and a cartoon version of Trump’s face on Maga-city One. Then it drew a red line from one to the other, and flashed “412” in yellow block text.

“You did not believe me,” said Paulina, pointing at the numbers.

“Just checking,” said Willy.

He waved his hand through the VR map. A polite, nearly human female voice intoned, “Thank you, and good bye,” then the image disappeared back into the device.

“It is only a few hours’ drive,” Paulina said. “Even less if we take a hyper-shuttle. I checked the schedule and each of the next three days, an evening shuttle goes from Columbus to Baltimore to M-C One in an hour and half. For an extra five thousand credits, we could go direct and get there in thirty minutes.”

Willy laughed. “Oh-kay. Where are going to get five thousand –”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Paulina. “I have made some arrangements for us. We can take the hyper. It will be good. I have already decided.”

“We will take the hyper,” Willy repeated, incredulous that she had already though so far through such a bizarre plan. “It will be good? You have already made the arrangements.?”

“I made arrangements for the five thousand credits. I did not make the shuttle arrangements yet but I figured you could handle that.”

Willy nodded his head, still not believing what he was hearing. “I’ll handle it. Right. Sure. No problem. Should I even bother asking where you got those five thousand credits?”

“You can ask.”

“I thought I just did,” said Willy.

“You can I ask, but I am not telling.”

He laughed, a half-hearted and sardonic chuckle, and rolled his eyes.

“Think of it as a gift,” Paulina said, ignoring his doubting response. “I have the five thousand. It is my surprise for you. It is a good surprise, no?”

 “Most of the time, I can’t even get you take a trip to the theater,” he said.

She stepped forward and climbed into the bed, sitting cross-legged next to him, on top of the blankets., with her back against the head board.

“I’m sorry I called you mishka. I know how much you do not like that,” she said, tracing one thin finger lightly along the curve Willy’s bulky forearm.

Willy looked up at her and saw she was smiling.


He threw the sheets aside and sat up. “Okay, now I know there’s more to this than the five thousand credits and the hyper-shuttle and the trip to Maga-city One. Just go ahead and tell me.”


“Just tell me.”

“Just tell you?”

“Something’s up. I can tell. All of a sudden, you’re being way too nice to me. You’re never this nice unless you need to tell me something and you don’t think I want to hear it.”

Paulina nodded her head, slow. She pursed her lips and held one hand tight on each knee, rocking back and forth with a motion that got faster with each move, as if she were filled with a powerful energy that was building towards a large, violent explosion.

“Okay, then. I will tell you,” she said.

She paused, as if considering whether to continue, then went ahead. “I have this idea. I thought about it on my own, I thought about it a lot. For most of the last few days. Then then after what happened today with that Resistance, I knew I should go ahead and tell you. And then we should go do it.”

“Do what?”

She looked away, towards the other wall, then back at him, though never making full eye contact.

“Just listen to my idea,” she said.

“I will, as soon as you get around to telling me,” said Willy.

“I think we should go to the White House and… visit… the President.”

“Visit him?” There must be more, he thought.


“That’s it?”

“Not exactly.”

There must be more. Paulina was drawing this out way too much, playing too coy for this conversation to only be about a simple visit to Trump in Maga-city One. Millions of people visited him there every year and enough of them got a presidential handshake or a friendly wave of the hand for it be a rare event. Chances were, if you went to the White House, you saw the President. He made himself available to his public. That’s why they loved him, after all – because he loved them.

“I feel like you’re not telling me something here,” Willy said.

“I think we should go and ask Mr. Trump for sex with us,” said Paulina.

Willy laughed, not positive that he actually heard her correctly. “You want to ask Trump for sex? Like… sex? The bumpty bump? The dirty deed?”

‘Call it however you like,” she said in her frosty Russian accent. “It is what I want to do. It is what I decided that we should do.”

Willy nodded, but didn’t say anything. He leaned his head back, until the base of his skull came to rest against the top of the head board. What Paulina had proposed seemed so ridiculous, so impossible, so flat-out insane that he thought that surely she must be joking. She had to be joking.

What did she think they would do? Go to M-C One, walk right up to the White House, and ask President Trump if he wanted to for a little menage a trois? How would they do that? Just stroll up to the windows of the Oval Office, knock knock until Trump let them in? And how do you go about proposition the most powerful man in the world?

Hello, Mr. President. We love you. We came all the way from the great city of Columbus, Ohio. We were just wondering. Fancy a fuck?

“I will ask him,” said Paulina. “Don’t worry, you will not have to say anything.”

“How do you plan to do that, exactly?” said Willy. He felt his curiosity growing by the moment.

She told him.

It seemed absurd, sure, but the way Paulina described it, and the utter conviction with which she spoke, well, Willy had to admit that she made the whole thing seem, well… possible. As if it would be nothing at all to convince the President to leave the White House and his security detail behind, and scamper away to a cheap motel room for a roll through the hay with a four hundred pound unemployed man and his Russian-born girlfriend, both of whom were total strangers with nothing to offer except their undying love and perhaps an hour’s worth of slatternly passion.





And yet, the way Pauline talked, she made Willy believe…

Five minutes after she finished laying out her plan for him, Willy Richmond booked a pair of seats on the East/Southeast hyper-shuttle direct to Maga-city One.

Three hours after that, in the sultry July midnight, they climbed aboard.


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